by Red Garnier
Perfect.
Tightening her legs around his hips, she arched her neck, allowing his strong, savage mouth to freely trail a path of damp, searing kisses down her skin. Separated only by the thin fabric of her panties and his thicker slacks, his cock fiercely scraped against her sex. The feel of him pulsing against her, throbbing with red-hot desire, quite understandably converted Lucy into a bona fide, award-winning slut. One with about as much pride as a dirty street beggar.
Her fingers sank into a thick mass of jet-black hair, so silky and soft and glorious it made her purr in delirium. “Please, Holden…please.” Her pleas were hot, intimate whispers embraced by the dark confines of the closet. “Now, now.”
“God, I’ve been dying to touch you,” he murmured as his hands fisted on her panties and gave them a swift pull. When she felt the fabric tear and separate she all but whimpered in heat, knowing there was now only one barrier, one measly barrier preventing him from sliding his penis inside her and making hot, delicious love to her.
“I’ve wanted you since the day I met you,” he breathed before planting a wet, sloppy kiss on her earlobe. “I’ve fucked you a thousand times in my mind already.”
“I’ve thought about you too,” she confessed, rubbing her pelvis against his hardness, wishing he would release his cock and thrust it inside her right this very instant. Her whole body shivered and her sex stung with a desire so harsh and primal and so not professional.
“Did you?” His strained words were muffled against her neck. “Do you touch yourself and come, thinking of us, Lucy?”
“Yes,” she gasped, knowing she might later regret her confession but right now she didn’t. Now she wanted him to know how she felt, to know how she wanted him. Like she’d never wanted anyone before.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he breathed. “I can’t think. I can’t work. Sometimes I can’t even breathe.” Bringing his lips back to hers, he kissed her ardently while he shoved a hand between their bodies to undo his zipper.
She’d gone wild practically since he’d opened the closet door, so now was not the moment to tame a runaway horse. She shoved her sex against his hand as he pulled his dick from his underwear. “Holden, please, put it inside me!”
Rumbling deep in his throat, he brushed the tip of his cock through the slick folds of her sex. “Is this what you want, you sexy little slut?” he growled, his teeth glinting white as he bared them in a snarl.
“Yes!”
His eyes misted when he studied her face. “Lucy,” he groaned, just as he rammed home. Lucy cried out at the feel of his thick, engorged penis thrusting through the tight muscles of her oozing sex, and just the feel of him stretching her, pushing her, possessing her, made her shudder in orgasm.
Agonized, Holden groaned, and with a superhuman effort pounded into her one, two, three more times and followed her, to heaven or hell or wherever this wondrous, dark, explosive place was.
In less time than it took Lucy to recover, he set her down, straightened, and in a low but nonetheless clear voice said, “That will be all, Miss Divine.”
Three
Lucy was a slut.
Or at least she felt like one.
No, she really was a slut.
Gratefully, she hadn’t seen Patrick Holden all day, and the distraction of taking Mrs. Holden shopping was proving to serve as much-needed therapy for Lucy. Dear God, why, oh why had she let him touch her like that? She should have smacked him, quit her job and gone home. Instead, she’d wrapped herself around him like a wanton, slutty python. Oh, Lord, she’d even hissed nasty little things in his ear, private things, about how she’d been masturbating thinking of him! And what’s worse, he’d said even nastier things. He’d called her a sexy little slut—and she’d actually loved it, the words only enhancing her orgasm to monstrous proportions, only to be dispatched after their shared, embarrassingly dirty confessions with a cold, “That will be all, Miss Divine”. As if fucking with him in the closet was merely part of her job!
But Lucy couldn’t quit her job now—what would she do? She’d come all the way to New York for this job, and she had no intention of returning to Oakland just yet, not after she’d studied so hard, and dreamed so long of coming to this city and making someone of herself. She merely had to make sure she didn’t exhibit this sort of unprofessional, totally uncharacteristic behavior with her boss anymore—no matter how much a temptation he posed. But how could she even bear to look at him after what they’d done yesterday?
And how stupid could she be to sabotage all her career plans for a few hot, sizzling, steamy minutes in the closet with her boss? It left her wondering.
Inside the venerable department store Bergdorf Goodman, Lucy decided to shove him off her brain at least for a few minutes and instead poured her heart into finding the perfect clothes for Mrs. Holden, who had announced this morning, “Divine, dear, we’re going shopping. Patrick told me I could buy whatever I want, and I’ll be damned if I don’t follow orders.”
As if her life depended on it, Lucy rummaged through a tall sales rack positioned discreetly behind several mannequin displays. “Let’s see what we can find here,” she said with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.
Mrs. Holden remained a good few feet away from her, looking flustered and furious. “Divine, get out of there, you’re embarrassing me,” she hissed. “I’m not buying anything if it’s not in the couture section—at full price! I won’t be seen in rags.”
Lucy figured it was best not to argue with a nouveau riche woman on a mission, and instead followed her to the couture section and dutifully eyed the beautiful clothing. “What about this?” Lucy asked, withdrawing a classic tweed Chanel ensemble and holding it up for Mrs. Holden’s review.
She eyed it critically, turned the tag, looked at the price and said, “I like it. But you know? You can’t even tell it’s a ten-thousand-dollar Chanel. If I’m paying ten thousand dollars, I want people to know I spent ten thousand dollars.”
“Maybe you should just leave the price tag on, Mrs. Holden.” She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them.
Mrs. Holden, however, didn’t seem bothered. “Wouldn’t that be a little cheap?” She tapped the side of her lips with one finger as she considered the possibility. “But you know, that’s not entirely a bad idea. I could just pretend it was an accident and be properly embarrassed when someone notices.” Her lips widened with a smile. “I think you’re starting to grow on me, Divine.”
“Mrs. Holden, I was just—”
“Shush! And please, call me Irene.”
Carrying the ten thousand pounds of clothes Irene purchased in one single afternoon could have propelled Lucy into worldwide weightlifting stardom. The woman didn’t even notice that Lucy was tired, hobbling along the hallways behind her with unflattering beads of sweat speckled on her forehead. All Irene focused on was scouring the stores in search of the most expensive outfits, all of which, in order to pass muster, had to scream their maker’s label loud and clear so that every living soul would be sure to notice.
When looking for handbags, Lucy found an extremely fashionable soft leather Balenciaga bag at Saks Fifth Avenue’s perfectly stocked handbag section. Irene said it looked like somebody had already worn it plenty, the appalled expression on her face clearly expressing her feelings about that, before she gasped delightedly and lifted a huge, quilted Chanel tote. The bag was black with the signature CCs in a soft pink hue interconnected at the center. “Now this is me. Class all the way,” the woman beamed. She hugged it to her chest, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she said, “Mine.”
After her brief bonding session with the handbag, Irene regarded Lucy with a solemn look. “That old one looks quite nice on you, though.”
“It’s distressed on purpose, Irene,” Lucy explained with a wan smile, holding the beautiful ink-blue-colored bag at eye level. “It’s meant to look used.”
“Something for the life of me I’ll never understand.” She spread out her hand, wi
ggling her fingers. “Bring that over dear, let’s buy it.”
“Oh no, Irene, I couldn’t.” Lucy took a step and carefully set the Balenciaga bag on its wooden display shelf.
Irene immediately snatched it up. “Come on, Divine. My son will never know. Besides, you’re sleeping with him aren’t you?”
Lucy wondered if the woman could have spoken a little louder, so the shoppers on the second and third levels could have heard that as well.
“Don’t look so disturbed, Divine. I know my own son,” the woman continued, pausing to peer into a glass display that held a glimmering assortment of eighteen-karat-gold jewelry. “I saw the way he looked at you yesterday.”
Lucy choked on her own saliva and after swallowing hard, made an impressive recovery. Her voice shook only mildly when she spoke. “He didn’t look at me in any particular way.”
“Ha!” Irene scoffed. “The day I don’t notice when my son’s hot for a woman is the day I die!”
“Irene, please, I’d rather not discuss this.”
“Oh, pooh. Then what else are two grown women to talk about while on a shopping spree? I sure as hell don’t want to talk about menopause. I’ve got enough of that, thank you! Oh my, will you look at that bangle?”
Lucy stared blankly down at the wide yellow-gold bangle bracelet and absently watched as a sales lady withdrew it from the vitrine and handed it to a restless Irene.
“We can discuss other things,” Lucy said worriedly.
Irene waved her hand dismissively and watched in fascination as the bangle twinkled on her wrist when she did so. “What do you think about this?” Irene asked.
“It’s beautiful. I like the encrusted gemstones.”
“All right, all right, you’ve convinced me. I’ll take it.” Irene handed it to the saleslady, along with the two handbags she carried. “And this and this.”
“Not the Balenciaga,” Lucy interjected. “Please, Irene.”
Irene frowned and begrudgingly placed the Balenciaga back on the shelf. “Oh, all right. But you’re being very silly and very stupid, Divine.”
Lucy knew the woman had no idea just how much so. She’d gotten involved with her boss, how much more stupid could that be? “I know.”
While the sales lady calculated the total, Irene rested her elbows on the vitrine and fixed her green eyes right on Lucy. “My son is a good man. And if he’s gotten somewhere in this world, he didn’t get there easily. God knows what our family went through to put him through college, and what he’s gone through to get where he is. He’s made some great sacrifices, and for all the social calls he gets, I know for a fact he’s really very lonely. I would love to see him settle down. I had at one point wished Katrina would be the one. But you know how it is with wishing, someone always seems to get it wrong!”
“I’m sorry,” was all Lucy thought to say.
As for the wishing part, if Lucy had one wish, one single wish at this very moment, instead of wishing to get to the top of her game, win the lottery or have eternal good health, she would have wished to disappear. Irene Holden’s know-it-all eyes—like her son’s darker ones—pinned her, and all Lucy could do was try to futilely ignore the way her stomach twisted at her words, because if Irene had expected Holden to settle down with Katrina, then Lucy concluded that Patrick Holden slept with all his assistants. How kinky and sick was that?
When the shoppers finally returned to Holden’s penthouse, the wearied Irene took to her bed, saying she couldn’t stand on her feet, and ordered “Pipsqueak” to bring dinner to her room. Meanwhile, Lucy did what she’d done every night since she’d become Holden’s assistant. She strode into his spacious closet, stared blankly at his business suits, all of them nearly identical, and then studied the ties hanging by color next to them.
Walking across his room to the chair beside the window, Lucy carefully set down the tie and the simple black Hugo Boss suit she’d selected. The tie was Hèrmes, a horse-pattered one that was very elegant and attractive with its light pale yellow background color.
She held her breath when she heard footsteps in the foyer and silently prayed it wasn’t him. She wasn’t going to get lucky. Turning to face the doorway, she watched him walk into his bedroom, busily removing his jacket.
They both froze, Lucy beside the chair, while he stood motionless a foot inside the door, a curled finger serving as a hook for the jacket now hanging idle on his hand. If he was at all affected by seeing her, he didn’t show it much. He was very still, his face unreadable except for a nearly imperceptible muscle twitching in his jaw.
Flustered, Lucy straightened her spine and needlessly said, “I was just choosing your tie,” before she crossed the room, suddenly knowing that it was imperative for her to leave now. And yet try as she might, she couldn’t get to the door fast enough. Holden was much faster.
“Lucy.” He thrust a hand out to halt her just before she made it to the threshold. She looked down at his grip, at the long, tanned fingers around her arm, then up at his face, her heart pounding. He had the blackest eyes she’d ever seen. They were deep and dark and shining with lust.
“I hope my mother didn’t give you any trouble?” His voice was low and husky.
She, on the other hand, had to swallow in order to speak, and when she did so, she sounded like a bad soprano with a sore throat. “Not at all, Mr. Holden.”
His eyelids seemed inordinately heavy and he looked at her through dark, spiky lashes. “Yesterday I was just Holden.”
For some reason, his mention of yesterday and the way she’d acted only infuriated her, and suddenly remembering his casual, cool dismissal made the blood in her veins boil even further. She yanked her arm free of his hold and thrust her chin up—as if she had nothing in the world to be ashamed of, as if she had sex with her bosses just about every single day of the year—as if what happened yesterday had been nothing.
“Oh that,” she said dismissively. “I don’t even care to remember.”
His jaw clenched at her words, the blow to his ego blissfully apparent. It felt supremely good to see him suffer, even if only a little bit, but just to drive the dagger in deeper, she batted her eyelashes at him and asked, “Will that be all, sir?”
With a low growl, he tunneled his fingers into her loose blonde hair. “No Lucy, that won’t be all,” he said right before pulling her face forward and crushing his lips to hers. She gasped at the assault and he quickly slid his tongue into her mouth, taking advantage. Heat, scorching and blinding, shot into her sex like thunderbolts.
Cradling her head with his hand, he angled his lips over hers, deepening the kiss, while his other hand let his jacket drop to the floor before reaching behind him to push the bedroom door closed. When that stray hand returned from its other task, it settled blissfully over her breast and pressed hard, fully cupping it in his palm while tearing a moan from deep in her belly. When—against her will of course—her misbehaving tongue eagerly followed the pace set by his, he all but growled in gratitude.
Although her body had turned into putty in his hands, she owed it to herself, to the last shreds of decency and self-respect she had left inside her, to wrench her lips away from him and say, “Holden, stop this.”
He snarled and began to trail a path of wet, hot kisses down her neck. “No,” he said firmly, rocking his hips against hers forcefully, letting her know in a very efficient way that he was hard and sexually aroused and so ready to take her.
She had no idea why this excited her to no reason, why his domineering, macho actions made her so impossibly horny. She threw her hair back, wanting to grant better access to his lips, which were now, God bless, brutally ravaging her neck despite her obvious reservations.
While one hand squeezed the roundness of her butt, he moved the other from her breast to her stomach and, easily flicking the button of her wide-leg pants open, slipped it inside her undies.
She whimpered when he slid his long middle finger inside her, her sex muscles both clenching and spreading
for its impalement.
“Holden,” she protested weakly. His only answer was a low, deep moan, since he was pretty busy sliding his finger inside her and now his thumb had found the nub of her clit and began stroking it with slow, dizzying circles.
“Holden, stop this… Holden, I am not a whore,” she protested weakly, but her body said differently, because as she spoke, one arm wrapped itself around his shoulders while a leg, out of its own volition, tightly encircled his hips.
“I know you aren’t,” he whispered hotly. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I had no idea what to say—I’m not really good at this. God, I swear I’m going crazy.” He locked his lips to hers once more and delivered a mind-blowing kiss that drew the air right out of her lungs and flat-out expelled the working cells from her brain.
Too soon to suit her, he pulled away, his chest heaving with harsh, haggard breaths, his eyes stormy. “Take off your clothes.”
Lucy took a step backward, straining to recover her wits as she shook her head. “No.”
“Take off your clothes, Lucy.”
Hot, wanton juices dampened her panties at his demands, but still she held onto the last remnants of her pride. “Why? Because you’re paying me to?”
His hands were swift as they unbuttoned his shirt. “No, because I’m asking you to.”
“I don’t think I should, Holden,” she said shakily, but she was too distracted now to think of all her career master plans, too distracted to count all those steps up the corporate ladder, because he’d just removed his shirt and at the sight of his magnificent upper body, Lucy found that she could think of nothing else right now.